


Here's To You

by VelvetWriteThings



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetWriteThings/pseuds/VelvetWriteThings
Summary: What if Chico didn't die, what would have happened to him? How would he have coped with everything that happened? Where would he end up?Tags will update as new chapters are added. I don't really get tags all that much. I came from the days of "Spin the wheel! You'll never know what's really inside" on FF.net.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Here's To You

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fanficiton in forever, and I thought what a better way to spend a Quarantine than by doing some writing challenge. Basically I wanted to challenge myself to try and work with something out of my comfort zone. I tend to write mostly slice of life, romantic stories, but nothing with a lot of action. So I thought I would try here. 
> 
> Also doesn't help that I've been trying to get all the achievements in MGSV:GZ and PP right now.
> 
> Hope you find some enjoyment from it.

One

The sun had relented over the harsh Afghan desert. Only for the harsh unforgiving sandstorms to wipe through. The Soviet soldiers of this little outpost in the middle of nowhere took shelter in their tent. Waiting for the winds to calm. Though not too far away was something that had been waiting for this moment to strike. Slowly it sat up from it’s little crevice in the cliffs and made its way. Inside the tent, the soldiers continued to just sit and talk. The mass of blood red cloth came up to the road. The wind masking the small clanks of metal on its body. Closer the sound of idle chit chat came to be heard. Whether it couldn’t understand, or couldn’t care didn’t matter. Finally coming to near the side of the tent, it waited. Waited. Until the sandstorm had ended. When it finally did, one soldier came out.  
“It’s over. Back to one’s post,” he spoke in a tired voice. Turning back to see his reluctant fellow soldiers stand, stretch, blow him off as they took their time. Turning his back was the last thing he should have done, as what came next was the feeling of nothing. In a blur of red came a fountain. His head now rolled back into tent. The shocked look on the face of their now fallen comrade matched theirs. Quickly the went for their rifles. Shouting to look out. Though by the time they finally re-armed themselves the side of the tent was slashed open. For a moment they saw the beast in red. The next, the glint of the sun off the blades it carried. Taking aim but it was too late. As it lunged forward stabbing through the chest of the closet soldier to him. Before spinning, lodging its hatchet into the chest of the one next to him. The last remaining soldier had the bright idea of hiding behind the table that not just two minutes ago he had been sharing with his fellow comrades without any care in the world. As the others feel to the ground spending their last moments of life rattling, trying to hold on, the red cloaked demon kicked the table effortlessly aside. Much like a tin can. The survivor fell back, his gun now knocked aside. He begged. It was all he could do, but it didn’t matter. The cloak grabbed the mans rifle and took aim. The soldier couldn’t see its face but felt its harsh uncaring glare. Quickly the man reached for his chest pocket, pulling a photo. It was a woman and a baby. The man was a father and a husband. Just a soldier doing his part for his country. The demon that had just slaughtered his comrades lowered its weapon. Taking it as a sign that he had been given mercy he tried to get up to run. Though a bullet stopped him. The man fell to the ground grasping his now bleeding ankle. Another shot rang out into the uncaring desert, as it entered his other leg. He looked to the exit of the tent not far, but it was not to be. Soon the demon approached, placing a boot on his chest. Forcing the soldier to look at him. Getting down to one knee. It reached behind and pulled out a photo, two photos. The suffering soviet soldier looked. A photo of a young boy, an older man, a woman wearing a bandana. The other photo of the boy from the first photo with a girl around his age with blonde hair. This only confused him more. The demon rose up, and without warning, proceeded to fire one bullet at a time slowly into the soldier. Even after the man’s screams stopped, it continued. Until the clink of the bolt returned signaling an empty magazine. Tossing it aside the cloaked beast walked out to drag the beheaded corpus in. It was done. After piling it in with the rest, it set fire to the tent. Watching, not to admire ones handiwork, but to make sure it caught ablaze. Like the sandstorm it arrived with, it went on back into the unknown desert to wait for the next time to strike. Though looking on from the distance was another solider. Blending in with the sand around him perfectly. Through binoculars it watched the cleanup be done.  
“I found the source of the gunshots,” he spoke into his ear piece.  
“Be careful, Boss. Whoever it is, it’s best we avoid them for now,” came over the intel line.  
“Miller is right, we’ve already got that Sniper to worry more about,” spoke another voice through the radio. “Carry on with the mission at hand.”  
“Yeah, hang on.”

One shouldn’t be surprised with how cold it could actually get at night in the desert. The red cloaked figure found a new crevice to perch on. Though since it wasn’t time for a hunt, it lowered it’s hood. The cool desert air sent a refreshing spine tickling sensation down his neck. From his pockets came a headset he placed on his ears. With some more shuffling, he found a tape player. The man listened as he disrobed his blood red cloak. Sharping and cleaning his weaponry in the now peaceful, serene desert. It was almost a different being when he wasn’t in that cloak. Though he continued to maintain his equipment, his preferred tools of the trade. Though he walked for hours to reach this uncharted part of the desert to feel alone to be at his most vulnerable, he wasn’t this time. Soon he felt it, gripping the hatchet he had been cleaning. Soon he quickly rolled throwing the hatchet at the target he had assumed to be there. As he turned he saw the dark figure looming behind him. Amazingly the man had dived out of the way. Having rolled over his sword he stood ready to fight once more. He went right for it, trying to slash at his enemy. Though they managed to dip and grab at his hands. Whoever they were they weren’t some grunt he had fought before. A knee came for his stomach. Taking the hit, he dropped his weapon. With a “gotcha” smirk he waited for his attacker to loosen their grip to take his now fallen blade. With his window now open, he smashed his balled fist into their face. With them now a bit daze, he tried to quickly dash for his hatchet but was stopped dead when a suppressed shot went off. The cloud of dust that if it had been just a couple inches left would have ended his life. Slowly he raised his hands in the air. “Who are you with?” The man asked in Russian. He didn’t know Russian, but the voice sounded familiar. Soon the attacker repeated his question. He tried to remember who it was. Then the voice listed off a bunch of languages. French, Afrikaans, Spanish, and English. Finally with English he nodded. “Okay, you speak English huh. Who are you here with?” He continued to think of the voice, ignoring the questions. “Answer me!” That annoyed grumbling voice. The man couldn’t believe it, with a confusion on his face he turned. “Snake?” Turning around, he finally looked at the man who had sneaked all the way out here. The eye patch finally sold it to him. The man was Big Boss now the one confused. Who was this man he had followed from the slaughter? There was a little accent in the voice. Green eyes. Their entire cheek scarred by a gash and burn from what must have been a long time ago. He didn’t really have long to think about, as the man’s expression went from one of confusion to anger. He grabbed his hatchet and sprinted towards him yelling, “Snake!” Though through this attack in pure unhinged rage now was easily punished. Big Boss simply pulled his arm leaving him open for a knock-out punch to his chin. The metal of Big Boss’ prosthetic arm quickly put the man down and out. The man laid there in the sand. With that done, he went to work trying to find out who he was. No dog tags. Miller and Ocelot on their end stated they had no VI on the man. Around was just the mans things. A blade, hatchet, more blades in the cloak. Of note was the tape player he had found, with just one tape. Boss read the tapes label and was taken aback. “Here’s to You,” Boss didn’t tell Miller, he didn’t want to tell him unless he was more sure. He looked over and saw him twitching and flailing as he laid there. Going over he started to dig through his pockets. When he found something, two photos. He wasn’t old enough to be just another random Mother Base survivor. Looking at them more closely he knew it was him. “Miller, Chico is alive.”“What!?”

Big Boss tried carrying Chico back but it was in vain. He was moving too much. By Miller’s request he had him handcuffed. How could he have survived that helicopter crash? Seeing how he was now, he could still be a danger. Boss waited as a helicopter was on its way to grab them. Soon Chico had come to but he didn’t just wake up normally. Snake had just been standing there when suddenly a deep guttural scream came from Chico. He shot up trying to get a barring on his situation, struggling to get out of his restraints. Snake tried to calm him down. “Easy! Easy. It’s okay.” This fell on deaf ears as Chico demanded to be let go. “Let me go, Snake! Just let me go!”  
“Chico, please just calm down! We just want to clear up some things.”  
“NO! GET ME OUT OF THESE!” Chico kept trying to break free, as Snake stood up to give Miller an update on Chico. When Big Boss turned back to Chico he had found him running his arm across the rocks of the cliffside. As if he was trying to saw his own arm off. There was something in Chico that completely broken. Quickly he pulled him back to the ground, having to restrain his legs. Though he continued to scream for his freedom. Cursing Snake. Thrashing like an animal. Even when Pequod arrived, his screams rivaled the helicopter. Inside Big Boss had no choice but to use the red cloak to try and cover the screaming man. The flight back was a nightmare. It wouldn’t end, Chico wouldn’t stop fighting. It was somewhere out at sea that finally the screaming stopped. Boss was just sighed in relief. Maybe he had finally worn himself out. Just accepted where he was and if he just did what they asked he’d be free to continue his work. Though silence was broken by the sound of muffled crying. There was something really wrong with Chico and Big Boss felt something inside of him seeing this. Guilt. When it came down to it this was partially, if not all, his fault.

Soon Mother Base was in view, and Boss walked over to the heap of red fabric. “Chico, we’re almost there. Look we just want to know some things. Is that alright?” There was no response conveyed, just silence. Miller made contact with the helicopter asking if they required a medical team, with a reluctant request for one on stand by. When they finally did land Chico didn’t move. The sobbing had stopped some time after Boss asked about the questioning. The doors opened and Boss had to basically drag Chico out. Standing him up before pulling off the covering. Chico was greeted by the blinding morning light and the new Mother Base they had set up. Though he wasn’t in the right mood to take it in really. He just stood there with a dazed look about him. Soon Miller made his way up to him. Though he didn’t look, keeping his face dead forward. Eyes no longer darting around. “Chico, it’s been a long time. You still remember me right?” Miller asked but Snake just shrugged. With everyone out, and his destination clear, Pequod began to take off. Chico’s eyes darted looking desperately for his things. They were still inside the helicopter. He tried following the helicopter, but with his legs still bound he just fell over. He still tried by crawling. Though when he showed no signs of stopping nearing the ledge Boss pulled him back. “They’re just going to decontaminate it, you will get everything back.” Still he continued to struggle. Smashing his head into the floor. Medical Staff rushed over trying to calm him, until they ended up just sedating him and throwing him on a stretcher.  
“Jesus Christ. You never said it was this bad, Boss. What are we supposed to do about this?”  
“Whatever we can do.”  
“We can’t work miracles.”  
“Yeah—well—There isn’t any reason we shouldn’t.”  
“I get that. This just isn’t really my area of expertise.”  
“Then get someone that is. Ocelot should know something or two.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this experiment.  
> If you liked let me know with a Kudos or a comment.  
> If you think I should hang up the towel and never come back also leave a comment.
> 
> Yeah, thank you for reading. See you in the next chapter. Take care now.


End file.
